


Lullaby

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Drug Use, Inspired by Music, Kidnapped Sherlock, Love/Hate, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pre-OT3, Secret Relationship, Sherlock is a Mess, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Relationships, Unilock, holmescest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-03
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-01-28 21:56:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12616424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I have it. under. control.” Sherlock is tense, ready to lash at Mycroft, just waiting for the signal to truly jump at his throat and to tear down everything they have, again.





	1. But You're Holding On To What You Never Had

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is 22, Mycroft 29, Greg 35.  
> This is going to be angsty but I promise a happy ending and some fluff too. I'll try to post once a week, on Friday.  
> Enjoy!

_But every time you hurt me, the less that I cry_  
_And every time you leave me, the quicker these tears dry_  
_And every time you walk out, the less I love you_  
_Baby, we don't stand a chance, it's sad but it's true_

 

\-- 

 

“I have it. under. control.” Sherlock is tense, ready to lash at Mycroft, just waiting for the signal to truly jump at his throat and to tear down everything they have, again. They have been playing that game for a while now, and they know by heart how it is going. Make a mistake. Fight. Make up (begging, ~~not~~ crying, fucking). Repeat until one of them breaks down. No one breaks down, ever. Never decisively, anyway.

Mycroft doesn’t give them the chance to fight this time. He moves first, pushes his brother against the wall and kisses him so hard it hurts. He puts one hand in his hair, pulling at the curls, and one hand around his throat, effectively caging him with his body. He can taste blood and alcohol on Sherlock’s tongue, and it should make him even angrier, that he not only took drugs but drank too, but it doesn’t. It’s just how it is at that point.

Sherlock bites his lip, hard. Mycroft yelps in pain, but Sherlock doesn’t give him time to protest as he’s already grinding against him, hands on his ass, and the pain-pleasure makes him feel dizzy. Mycroft takes control again, nibbling and licking at his brother’s throat, his hands going down his body achingly slowly. Sherlock is a whimpering mess, begging to be taken right there right now, even if they’re barely out of the drug den Mycroft found him. It makes the elder Holmes realize what they are doing.

Sherlock is high, and drunk, and totally out of control. Mycroft tries to cool down and takes a step back, distancing himself from his panting brother. He is out of breath too, but one of them needs to act rational.

“Lock, stop, stop. Let’s go home. We can’t do that there.”

His little brother nods, pupils blown wide and looking out of himself, their fight for dominance forgotten. The signs he’s deducing could be caused by the drugs, or by him. Mycroft doesn’t care because he needs to get away from this place this instant. The younger man inhales sharply, visibly trying to keep it together, and Mycroft feels it as if it’s his breath Sherlock is breathing, stealing directly it from his lungs. He can’t breathe when he’s near him. He forces himself to move and pulls the younger man by the hand to the cab that’s waiting for them, already thinking about which CCTV tapes he needs to make disappear later and that he has to inform Gregory that he found his brother.

 

\--

 

Sherlock doesn’t know what they’re doing. He’s laying in bed, his body sore because of the sex and the withdrawal from the drugs he took hours earlier. He feels consumed by the love he feels for Mycroft, but, as he watches his brother sleep beside him, he knows they only manage to hurt each other. He can’t help but count the numbers of bitemarks and nail scratches on their skin. There’s way, way too many. It makes Sherlock wonder why they can’t express what they feel with words, why they need to mark their bodies instead.

What the point of them being with each other, when it’s obviously causing them more problems than it’s worth? Mycroft has to be extra careful all the time because of their relationship. It could ruin his career and life way easily that it could damage Sherlock’s life. He’s barely attending class anymore anyway. He quickly answers his own question. There would be no point of not being together. He wouldn’t be able to go on without him now. He’s barely able to keep it together with him, he would just crumble if Mycroft leaves him.

His experiment with drugs got _slightly_ out of hand when he realized they couldn’t be a real couple, ever. He will never be able to walk hand in hand with him, or to kiss him in public. He wants the world to know Mycroft is his, but they can’t, and he really needs the distraction drugs provide. He knows he can stop when he wants to, but they work so well to numb what he feels, so why would he. And he needs a fix right now.

He gets out of bed and puts his clothes on, determined to leave before Mycroft wakes up. They can’t stay together too long anyway, or they fight, and Sherlock would like to keep the taste of their shared night and not the bitter taste of regret.

I love you, he wants to whisper to the sleeping form of his big brother, before closing the door and leaving him to wake up alone. But he knows it’s like telling someone who can’t listen or answer, and not because Mycroft is asleep.

He’s not sure what would happen if they both took the time to listen to each other. The end, probably. They’re not… What they feel, or at least, what he feels, can’t be conveyed in words. He loves him but he wants to say more, much more than that. Everyone can say “I love you”. Mycroft deserves better. And maybe he’s afraid he would be met by stunned silence if he said it out loud. Or laughs. So Sherlock stays silent.

He walks through the streets of London, deducing the passerby. No one is happy, it seems. So it’s not really that important if he isn’t, either. At least he can see and touch the person he wants more than anything. He takes what he can. A sexual relationship or just ambiguous texting like it was at first, he’s okay with anything his brother would give him.

Except that he’s not okay. The tension between them is always all-consuming, always was, even when they used to speak through messages only. Sherlock is drawn by his brother and no matter what he tries, he can’t stay away. He accepted that long ago.

Mycroft makes him want too much. It wasn’t easier when they were both hiding their unnatural sentiments towards each other, but at least Sherlock wasn’t feeling greedy. Now, he always needs more. More of his brother’s time, attention, love. More marks. If he isn’t in pain the morning after, he barely feels like he belongs to him.

And if he is slowly losing himself into the unclear limits of their relationship, that's his problem, not Mycroft’s.


	2. Time is so cruel, I hate us

“Sherlock, not again,” Lestrade sighs, taking in the state of the younger man. Sherlock is high as a kite for the third time this week. “You know you’re not allowed on crime scenes when you’re like this.”

“Even with all the cocaine of the city in my body, I’d be more efficient that your team, Gavin.” Sherlock takes a look around and pouts. “Already solved it. Don’t you have something more challenging for once?”

“I don’t. Now let me give my useless team directions and we’ll go eat something. Care to tell me who did that?”

Sherlock protests but does as he’s told, explaining quickly what he deduced and then follows Greg into the nearest café.

Lestrade orders them both breakfast. He always makes sure Sherlock eats something when they see each other, and not only because it’s a good excuse to spend more time with the young genius. Sherlock eyes the full english breakfast with a look not far from disgust. The kid has probably not seen that much food since the last time they were together and probably doesn’t even know that he’s hungry.

“Eat, sunshine. You could do with a few more pounds.”

Sherlock directs the disgusted look at him but he sighs and obeys, and the blush on his cheeks discredits his apparent annoyance at the nickname. And just as Greg predicted, once he realizes he actually is starving, he eats the whole meal.

Now, he knows it’s a bit not good to be attracted by someone thirteen years younger, and it took him time to stop lying to himself about that. But Sherlock is fascinating. The younger man is _pretty_ , and elegant, and fierce. No wonders he attracts so much looks.

And Greg is not doing anything wrong. He calls him sunshine from time to time because he likes the blush on Sherlock’s cheeks, but he won’t try anything more. The younger would stutter, which is cute as hell in Greg’s opinion. Especially when it comes from someone as articulate as Sherlock.  It’s enough to know that the detective likes him (even if it’s not obvious when he calls him Gavin or Geoff on purpose), and he needs someone responsible in his life, not one more person that tries to get into his pants. It’s obviously not working with his older brother, so Greg took on as much responsibility as he could. Hence why he tries to feed him.  

Lestrade is mesmerized by the Holmes brothers, but no one needs to know that. Sherlock deduced it, of course, but Greg thinks he doesn’t rub it on his face because he doesn't want to bring up the fact that they’re fucking. They know he knows, but they all silently decided not to address it.

He’s not judging. They’re obviously madly in love with each other, even if they will never admit it, and it’s not like they could have children. But he’s still a bit angry at Mycroft because Sherlock is hurting, and he had this thought, immediately dismissed, that he could do better. Sherlock needs Mycroft like he needs oxygen. He wouldn’t deprive him of that, because even if Sherlock is visibly unhappy, it would be much, much worse, and Greg wants him to be okay.

He doesn’t know where this intense need to protect Sherlock comes from. And Mycroft too, if he’s honest. Not that the 29-years old needs protection, but maybe, maybe he needs support. He has a weird relationship with the elder Holmes, because he cares more and more about Sherlock, and Mycroft is Sherlock’s whole world, so he finds himself caring more about him too. They’re the closest thing to friends that the chemistry student has and therefore spend enough time together that Greg think they’re friends too. He’s probably just a necessary nuisance for Mycroft though, but he doesn’t care. Mycroft’s not the kind to admit he needs help.

Lestrade is constantly worrying and wakes up frequently in the middle of the night to check if he got any messages from any of the brothers. He always needs to make sure they’re safe. He has that feeling deep inside him that more trouble is coming for them. And he’s proven right each time Mycroft calls him in panic because Sherlock made an overdose, or when he finds Sherlock on his sofa, staring at the ceiling, dried tears on his cheeks. He stopped asking how he got in long ago, settling on making him tea and ordering take-away, and sometimes taking him into his arms to calm him down, when Sherlock lets him.  The first time he tried that, Sherlock was startled. Like he didn’t know that someone (someone else than Mycroft, Greg knows that they have sweet moments, sometimes) could hug him without trying to get more. It broke Lestrade’s heart.

(““What are you doing?”

“Comforting you, idiot.” Sherlock shut up and curled tighter against him. Greg didn’t think about how nice it felt to have him close.)

Lestrade makes him smile a few times during their meal. He forgets to eat when Sherlock laughs in earnest and stops breathing when Sherlock looks at him through his lashes.

Well, maybe he is a bit more than just attracted to him.

The easy atmosphere between them disappears when Sherlock starts to show signs of withdrawal, rubbing at his wrists, still the shadow of a smile on his lips but his eyes looking tired again. The young genius stands up and Lestrade does what he does every time he leaves, he tries to make him stay longer, to make him resist the tentation a few more hours.

“Sherlock.” He doesn’t need to say more.

“No, Greg.” And Sherlock is gone.

  
  



	3. I'm here to save you, I'm here to break you

Mycroft is trying to work when Lestrade calls him because Sherlock fled from rehab. He excuses himself from work and steps out of his building, trying to look composed but he’s already panicking. He doesn't think he will ever get used to have your baby brother almost dying, almost killing himself and refusing the help you offer him again and again. 

Mycroft runs. After Sherlock, after his career, after everything he promised himself he would be. He gets into the first cab to get to Gregory’s flat, where Sherlock tends to be more and more and will probably end up later tonight. It’s pointless to try and find him now, they will have to wait. 

He’s 29 and about to take over the world, but he doesn’t see the point anymore. He’s trying to keep it together, even though he can only think of Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. 

It’s consuming him  and scaring him, to be so dependant and obsessed with someone else.    
It has always been like that but lately with Sherlock’s drugs addiction it became harder and harder to go on. Sherlock is everything Mycroft is, when Mycroft just tries to be a person on his own. His little brother takes too much place in him, he’s too much of what the politician is. He’s not even sure that he does what he does for him and not to have the means to protect Sherlock. Because he knows Sherlock is going to need his protection. 

He pays for the ride and gets out, running again to get to the flat. It’s useless and he knows it, Sherlock is not there yet, but he can’t help it. He knocks on the door even though he has a key, given by Lestrade when they realized that Sherlock began to stay more at his place. 

He’s greeted by friendly chocolate brown eyes and a smile, even if there’s worry written all over Lestrade’s body language. He enters the flat, the smell of fresh coffee and cigarettes making him feel like he’s home, whichis something he never quite felt before meeting Lestrade, except when he was with Sherlock. He realizes he has been there a lot too lately and notices that Gregory has already prepared fresh clothes and blankets for his brother. He feels a bit better already.

Gregory confuses him to no end. Not that he is hard to deduce, it’s rather easy to read him, but because he can’t identify reasons why the older man helps them and even likes them. 

It’s the first time someone cares for them like that. 

Wordlessly, he sits down on the couch and accepts the cup of coffee Gregory made him. It’s disgusting, really, one of these instant thing you really can’t call coffee and that Lestrade probably drinks just to stay awake, but the gesture warms him anyway and he has to fight a smile.

The conversation flows easily, and Lestrade makes him snort (definitely not chuckle) from time to time in obvious attempts to distract him. It helps. Mycroft keeps an eye on his watch though, unable to keep his mind away from Sherlock, and suddenly, the younger Holmes is there. It began to rain a while ago and the youngest is soaked. Mycroft stands up and the tension in the room picks up as they all stand there silently. Gregory is the first to move and guides Sherlock to the bathroom, scolding him under his breath for not getting there quicker. Sherlock looks lost and far away and their eyes meet quickly before he looks away, clearly ashamed (to Mycroft’s eyes. To anyone else the young adult probably looks petulant and angry). 

Mycroft sighs as Sherlock disappears in the other room. He feels empty and tired, and like he can’t take care of Sherlock properly. He would be lost without Gregory now. He sits back down and buries his face in his hands, utterly defeated.

It makes him sad that Sherlock has found someone that can help him. He’s glad, of course, Sherlock needs a friend, but it hurts to see that Lestrade can take over something Mycroft did all his life, like it’s nothing. Like it’s natural. He feels stupid for being… overprotective? _Jealous_ , his mind supplies, but he ignores it. The Iceman doesn’t feel jealousy. 

He shakes himself out of his misery when Gregory comes back. 

“He’s as okay as he can be. High, but not wounded.”

Mycroft nods, not comforted. Lestrade sits down beside him and extend his arm, like he wants to take his hand, but backtracks at the last second, smiling awkwardly. The politician doesn’t know what to think about that, (which he doesn't like at all, why must Gregory’s actions not fall under any category, it’s infuriating) so he stores it away in his mind palace for later. 

They listen to Sherlock moving around the bathroom for a while without speaking, and the almost silence feels nice, actually. Just them relishing the fact that Sherlock is safe. 

“Want me to drive you and Sherlock home?”

“I think he’s better here. I’ll take a cab.”

“Mycroft, Sherlock is better when he’s with  _ you _ ,” Lestrade says, looking at him earnestly, so convinced that Sherlock actually needs him it hurts. 

“Stay here, okay? There’s enough place for the two of you.” He seems to sense that Mycroft’s house is a bad idea. They both know Sherlock hates it there. So Mycroft gives in. He really doesn’t want to go back to his house alone and without Sherlock when he’s in that state. 

Sherlock goes out of the bathroom, wearing Lestrade’s way too big clothes, and dives straight for the sofa, half falling on them. Gregory pushes him up again to get up with the “exasperated but fond” look he always has around the 22 years old man, and gets them a mattress and some bedsheets. 

He bids them goodnight and shares a look with Mycroft. The younger man nods slightly and turns his gaze to Sherlock. He really seems okay. The high will go and they will have to find a new solution, but for now, Sherlock is okay and almost asleep. Gregory exits the room and it’s only them. They arrange themselves and lie down, sharing the covers but keeping a few centimeters between them. The usual tension there is when they are in the same room is surprisingly absent though, and Mycroft moves to take Sherlock into his arms. The young man buries his face against his throat. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, brother mine. Let’s sleep, hm?” he whispers against his brother’s locks, inhaling the curious perfume of Lestrade’s shampoo mixing with Sherlock’s own special scent. It’s comforting. They’re okay, they’re okay. 

Sherlock falls asleep almost immediately, and Mycroft watches him for hours, the sleep eluding him. 

“I’m scared of how much I love you,” he states, kissing him softly on the forehead when he leaves for work in the morning. Sherlock doesn’t stir. 

 


	4. A Song In Every Breath

Sherlock wakes up alone at Greg’s flat but doesn't need to open his eyes to know that the other half of their makeshift bed is empty and cold. He’s not surprised, Mycroft has to work after all, but he can’t hold back the wave of disappointment that falls over him. His stomach constricts painfully at the thought of his brother leaving without a word, just like Sherlock always does. He knows he has no right to feel hurt for his brother’s action as it’s himself who set that behaviour in motion. But yesterday felt different, more peaceful somehow, and he had longed for more. In vain, it seems. But he can’t blame Mycroft. Who would want to be with a junkie? His brother must be so ashamed of him, for failing again. But even before the drugs Mycroft wouldn’t have stayed. At least he was in his brother’s arms for a few hours, and it’s still much more than he deserves. 

He feels like throwing up and he knows that as soon as he will open his eyes he will have to fight against the urge to numb everything with cocain. If he could find a way to make it stop forever without hurting Mycroft and Greg, he would. He tries not to listen to the voice that tells him they would be better off without him. 

Sherlock can hear Greg move around in the kitchen and realizes he’s actually hungry. He smells pancakes. Lestrade knows he prefers sweet things and it really shouldn’t do things to his insides to know that he’s cooking just for him. He decides to at least get up and join the older man in the kitchen, without bothering to put pants on. 

Greg beams at him when he enters the room (and quickly averts his gaze when he sees Sherlock’s bare legs), the smell of pancakes and coffee bringing a strange sense of home to Sherlock. He sits down at the table, fidgeting with the oversized shirt while Lestrade finishes what he’s doing. 

“Here, Sunshine.” Greg puts the plate down in front of Sherlock, who frowns at it, at loss for words. He should be used to being taken care now, but Greg still confuses him. The policeman sits down beside him and begins to sip on his coffee as he opens the newspaper. After a few minutes of silence, during when Greg reads his paper, or acts like he does (they both know he waits for Sherlock to eat), the younger man asks the question he wanted to ask since months:

“Why do you call me  _ sunshine _ ?” 

Greg looks up for his newspaper, looking genuinely surprised. His eyebrows rise a little as he puts his cup of coffee down, and, with sincerity overflowing his words, he tells Sherlock, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world:

“Because you are to me.” 

It’s not the most obvious thing in the world when you hate yourself.  Sherlock is not worthy of love. He knows Mycroft must feel some sort of affection towards him, and Greg likes him, but everything is so confusing and most of the time he wonders why they don’t hate him. 

And well, sunshine. He likes it when Greg calls him like that. But he isn’t. He really isn’t. He’s full of dark, hidden things that he doesn’t want to look too close at. He knows he could really easily fall into the darkness that’s inside. The drugs are already a step in that direction. He would barely need a push to let go. 

But he’s Greg’s sunshine. And he would like Greg to keep that illusion a while longer. He doesn’t want him to see how weak and broken he really is, even if the older man has seen him at his worst already. Maybe he’s blind. Maybe he’s a hopeless optimist (he’s not. There’s more cynicism in him than in both Holmes together.)

Sherlock forces himself to stop looking at Greg like he hung the moon. He wants to tell him that this whole thing is just going to hurt him and that the older man really should know it after his disastrous experience with marriage. Instead, he lets go and begins to eat, and he can see from the corner of his eyes that Greg is smiling, which, stupidly, makes him smile too. 

 

After putting the plates away they share a cigarette, letting the smoke out through the window of the kitchen. 

“Are you working on an interesting case at the moment?” Sherlock asks, breaking the silence.

“Hum-hum. I was thinking about asking you to come and have a look, what do you think?”

Sherlock grins as Greg gives more details. Finally something interesting, he can sense it. Greg is obviously trying to distract him from the drugs but there’s something more, he knows it. As the older man speaks, Sherlock can feel his mind making links between elements the police obviously missed and it’s becoming hard to stay in place. 

“Let’s go then!” He feels energized at once. He’s still hurting because of Mycroft, but he knows he can get invested in the case enough to forget about the pain for a few hours. 

 

 

\---

 

 

Everything goes wrong. He loses Greg after he spots the murderer in the crowd around the crime scene. He doesn’t stop running when Lestrade shouts his name, even if the panic he can hear in his voice makes his step slightly falters. He needs to feel useful though and runs harder almost immediately. But when he catches up with the murderer in a dark alley and sees that the man is carrying a knife, he wishes he wasn’t alone. Without back-up, he realizes he’s putting himself into more danger that he’s willing to face alone. He doesn’t even have a gun. Mycroft is clearly going to kill him if he hears what Sherlock is doing, he thinks, as he throws himself at the man running in front of him. 

They struggle for a few seconds and Sherlock really thinks he’s going to gain the upper hand when he feels a blow to his head. His vision goes dark and he can feel himself being lifted from the ground before he faints. 

He wakes up with an headache and the strong urge to throw up, his face against the wet and cold pavement and both hands tied behind his back. He’s not gagged though, his attackers didn’t bother probably because nobody would hear him anyway. Sherlock has no idea where he is.

He tries to lift his head to see better and gain a few informations about the place he’s held in, but he’s unable to move. He realizes they drugged him. Which is a good thing actually. His body is used to a lot of substances by now, the effects are going to be shorter than they thought it would. He probably should be still unconscious. He won’t be able to do much even when the drugs will wear out but knowing that he has just that small advantage on them feels good. 

Sherlock knows why they took them here. They could have let him in the alley, or killed him when he was unconscious if he was simply an interferer. He’s the prey for something bigger.

This doesn’t make sense with what he deduced from the murderer, though: a criminal, yes, but someone acting alone and certainly not organised enough to hold someone for a ransom or for revenge. And he didn’t see the face of the man who hit him, but he obviously doesn’t know about Sherlock’s tolerance to drugs either.

Mycroft erases every trace of Sherlock every time the younger Holmes helps to arrest someone or gets into any kind of trouble. When he’s in rehab it’s not even under his real name. Sherlock is clean. Which means it’s not someone who’s after him, but after his brother. Sherlock isn’t stupid, he knows Mycroft puts himself into danger by working for the secret service, but he thought he was safe now that he isn’t on the field anymore. He was wrong obviously. 

He wants Mycroft to come get him. He won’t admit it to anyone but he’s scared and cold, and he wants his brother to save him. But Mycroft would be in danger. Sherlock silently prays for Greg to be with his brother. 

A scream breaks the silence.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is that plot doing in my angst??  
> Btw you shoud watch the "you in me" MV by KARD (with subtitles) because it's the best song about unhealthy relationships ever :) and it's creepy, perfect. :D  
> leave a comment if you're still there? <3


	5. Let's not fall in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't update last week and I'm sorry. And this is a small chapter :/ I'll try to do better in the next weeks.

_ Sherlock is on a case with me _ -Greg

_ He looked really sad when he woke up, what happened? _ -Greg

Mycroft sighs when he reads the messages. He can’t put into words the huge void he felt when he watched his brother sleep or the utter despair that crushed him when he left. Sherlock didn’t stay in rehab, Sherlock took drugs. And Mycroft feels so guilty. His brother is obviously coping with whatever is what they’re doing and the young politician can’t give him what he truly needs. At least they didn’t physically hurt themselves this time.

He thought about ending it countless times, but every time he’s about to tell Sherlock he wants to stop, he finds himself unable to do so. He really should, for his brother’s sake. And for his own sake too, if he’s honest. It hurts to much to be like this, to have the “almost” but not to be able to have the full thing. Greg could take care of Sherlock better than him and give him  _ everything _ . 

The policeman really likes Sherlock. He’s undoubtedly attracted to both of them, but well, there is that magnetic pull everyone feels towards Sherlock. And Sherlock is head over heels for Gregory, even if he doesn’t acknowledge it yet. Mycroft feels bitter, because Sherlock is  _ his _ . There’s that irrational part of his brain that wants Sherlock for him and him only, that won’t listen to logic and doesn’t care about their well-beings. He feels like he’s constantly fighting against himself. He tries to cough up the jealousy that’s threatening to spill out and sends a message to Lestrade, and avoids answering the question on purpose:

_ How is he now? _ -MH

_ He’s okay, looks excited to work on the case, insulted my teams only twice so far _ -Greg

He smiles despite himself and puts his phone back in his pocket. It’s hard to feel resentful towards Gregory. 

He gets absorbed by his work for the next hour. He has to work on this case which required him to go on the field again a few weeks back. Sherlock doesn’t know it because he doesn’t want him to worry, but Mycroft has to do legwork again, and this whole case is not taking the direction he wants it to take. 

Mycroft frowns as he reads a note added by one of his colleague that he didn’t see the day before. One of their key informants got murdered the previous night, and this is exactly Lestrade’s range of action. Which means it’s the case on which his baby brother is currently working on.  _ What do we say about coincidences. _

He looks at his phone with a sense of dread and realizes it was on silent. There are five missed calls from Gregory, and somehow, he already knows. He calls him back with trembling fingers. Lestrade answers after only one ring.

“I lost him. He went after him and and… I don’t think he escaped to look for drugs like last time, Mycroft. Something’s wrong.” Gregory sounds like he’s about to cry, which is frankly terrifying to Mycroft. 

“Where are you?” he asks, and then he runs.

 

 

It’s Greg who gets the message, surprisingly. It says that they have Sherlock, and everything screams that whoever they are, they have no idea what they are doing. Mycroft looks very concerned about their apparent incompetence. They are able to locate their hiding place ridiculously easily, without involving anyone from their respective teams. If it wasn’t for the worry that was eating him alive, Greg would have enjoyed how well he and Mycroft work together. 

Mycroft looks at the abandoned house where Sherlock’s abductors seem to be with a frown on his face and takes a big breath, leaning against the wall they’re hiding behind.

“It’s not about Sherlock.” It’s really cold suddenly and Greg knows what’s about to happen.

“...They want you.” Greg feels the panic rise even more at the thought that not only Sherlock is in danger, but Mycroft too.

“Of course they do. I’m going in.”  _ No- _

“No way. You stay here and wait for me to come back.”  _ They want you, you idiot, do you think I’m going to let them hurt you in any way- _

“Gregory, I was an agent. Unofficially, I’m still one. I know how to handle this.” Greg forces himself to breathe deeply and to keep an even tone. Mycroft is panicking too, he can see it, but they have to stay calm and  _ Mycroft is not going there alone _ .

“You were an agent, and I’m pretty sure there’s a rule that says you can’t get involved if it’s personal.”

“It’s my fault. I’m going.”   
“I won’t let you.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice, Gregory.”

“What-”  _ Click _ . 

_ No, no, no _ . Mycroft _ just fucking handcuffed him _ to a pole. The key- 

“Mycroft, no!” The elder Holmes smiles sadly as Greg tries to get his wrist out of the handcuff even though he knows it’s totally useless. 

“I'm sorry, Gregory. I can’t let him there alone one more minute.”  _ What if they hurt him. What if he’s dead. What if.  _ Never since they’ve became friends has Lestrade seen Mycroft so worried. 

Greg knows what the younger man is thinking because he has exactly the same thoughts. He can’t lose them. He would take the time to think about how they turned his whole world upside down in the last few months if he wasn’t busy panicking as Mycroft walks directly into the trap they set for him. 

But how can he think he can go there alone? He’s sacrificing himself, as always, but Sherlock won’t go out of there without his brother anyway. 

Greg breathes in and out a few times. He needs to think, there must be a way to save their asses,  _ think, think, THINK. _

He keeps a second key in his wallet because Sherlock keeps stealing the handcuffs and he needs a way to open them just in case the younger man does something idiot. 

Mycroft doesn’t know about it and as he reaches for his pocket, he knows it’s still there.

 


End file.
